Elias stepped out into the sunlight. For the first time in years, he didn't wait for a sign. He just started walking, and for a brief, flickering second, the compasses in the pockets of every passerby turned, just slightly, to follow him.

The shopkeeper smiled, revealing a silver tooth. She took his pebbles and traded them for a single, unadorned iron ring. It had no charge. It was silent.

The shopkeeper, a woman whose skin looked like crumpled parchment, didn't look up when he entered. "The industrial aisle is for those who want to hold things together," she whispered, her voice like grinding stones. "The rare-earth magnets are for those who want to tear things apart."

Elias realized then that people didn't come here to buy magnets. They came to buy a sense of direction. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of dull, grey pebbles he’d found on the street.

Elias hovered his hand over a different set—bright, silver discs that skittered away from his touch.